don't cry little emo girl, he still won't love you tomorrow!
i want an emo kid friend. and no, my cousin Chad doesn't count even though Lindsay and i have coined the term "amo" (pronounced: aim-o) and proclaimed Chad as the poster child. i'm talking a living, breathing, skinny jean abusing, side swept bang sporting, full blown emo kid. i want heavy black eye liner, a black studded belt, and Something Corporate blaring from the speakers of a shitty old Ford Fairmont with stickers plastered across the bumper. an added bonus if your myspace display name is something along the lines of "invisible to him" or "lost my love-help me find it"...
does this sound like you? do you know anyone who fits this description? if so, will you/they be my friend?
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Friday, December 21, 2007
holy Craigslist, Batman!
below is an actual post i found on Craigslist this morning. while i can understand the need for egg donors, i think it is humorous that the owner of the email address "jewishbaby3@yahoo.com" thinks that his/her organization needs to find Jewish egg donors in order to produce offspring who be raised in the Jewish faith. and i especially love that they consider being an egg donor a part time job...
JEWISH EGG DONORS URGENTLY NEEDED $8,000+
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reply to: jewishbaby3@yahoo.com
Date: 2007-12-21, 8:51AM PST
WE WOULD FEEL INCREDIBLY BLESSED TO HAVE YOUR HELP!
A Jewish Blessing was founded in response to the growing number of requests from infertile Jewish families for help in finding qualified and extraordinary young Jewish women to be their egg donors.
We are currently working with several wonderful couples, with more families reaching out to us every day. So, we are truly in need of your help.
If you are a Jewish woman age 20-32, very responsible, kind and sincere, with a great personality and would consider helping one of these families achieve their dream of becoming parents please email us.... and please pass this forward to friends who might also want to help.
Compensation: $8,000+
This is a part-time job.
This is a contract job.
below is an actual post i found on Craigslist this morning. while i can understand the need for egg donors, i think it is humorous that the owner of the email address "jewishbaby3@yahoo.com" thinks that his/her organization needs to find Jewish egg donors in order to produce offspring who be raised in the Jewish faith. and i especially love that they consider being an egg donor a part time job...
JEWISH EGG DONORS URGENTLY NEEDED $8,000+
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reply to: jewishbaby3@yahoo.com
Date: 2007-12-21, 8:51AM PST
WE WOULD FEEL INCREDIBLY BLESSED TO HAVE YOUR HELP!
A Jewish Blessing was founded in response to the growing number of requests from infertile Jewish families for help in finding qualified and extraordinary young Jewish women to be their egg donors.
We are currently working with several wonderful couples, with more families reaching out to us every day. So, we are truly in need of your help.
If you are a Jewish woman age 20-32, very responsible, kind and sincere, with a great personality and would consider helping one of these families achieve their dream of becoming parents please email us.... and please pass this forward to friends who might also want to help.
Compensation: $8,000+
This is a part-time job.
This is a contract job.
Monday, November 19, 2007
ten reasons why my dad is cooler than yours
1. he spawned me. and Jake.
2. he is a short order cook and will make me anything i want for breakfast on any given day.
3. one time i went to Whole Foods and bought bacon wrapped chicken for him. i called and told him i had a surprise, and that it involved bacon. he asked me if it was bacon wrapped cock.
4. he called me a fag via text message.
5. he still thinks Brittney Spears is a virgin.
6. his new favorite thing is to say "whore", but quickly add a "ssss" sound at the end. people probably think that he is crazy, really likes horses, or a combination thereof.
7. even when he says he is "too full" and will "surely die", he'll still eat everything that's left on his plate - and yours.
8. he regularly quotes Disney's The Jungle Book movie.
9. one time he was trying not to use expletive words so he said, "i don't give a F." but just to make 100% certain i knew what he was trying to convey, he added, "or a U-C-K."
10. i said so.
1. he spawned me. and Jake.
2. he is a short order cook and will make me anything i want for breakfast on any given day.
3. one time i went to Whole Foods and bought bacon wrapped chicken for him. i called and told him i had a surprise, and that it involved bacon. he asked me if it was bacon wrapped cock.
4. he called me a fag via text message.
5. he still thinks Brittney Spears is a virgin.
6. his new favorite thing is to say "whore", but quickly add a "ssss" sound at the end. people probably think that he is crazy, really likes horses, or a combination thereof.
7. even when he says he is "too full" and will "surely die", he'll still eat everything that's left on his plate - and yours.
8. he regularly quotes Disney's The Jungle Book movie.
9. one time he was trying not to use expletive words so he said, "i don't give a F." but just to make 100% certain i knew what he was trying to convey, he added, "or a U-C-K."
10. i said so.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
say it ain't so
i've recently come to the conclusion that i can convince myself that anything is true, no matter how ridiculous it may appear. this is a horrible trait and i must rid myself of this "gift" immediately before i end up in a mental institution. (though some may argue i already belong there...)
for example, on Sunday i went to see Martian Child with Lindsay. as i sat in the theater thinking how cute/ludicrous it was that a child actually believed he was from another planet, my right arm fell asleep. for some reason unbeknown to any logic, my immediate reaction is that i'm having a heart attack. i know, i know - stupid. but i seriously manage to convince myself that i may die right then and there in the movie theater. long after panic had set in, i managed to empower suspension of disbelief and remembered that numbness is a sign of stroke, not heart attack, and clearly i wasn't having a stroke... only an idiot would think i was having a stroke.
my rationale? your guess is as good as mine...
today i'm pretty sure i have a brain aneurysm. go figure.
i've recently come to the conclusion that i can convince myself that anything is true, no matter how ridiculous it may appear. this is a horrible trait and i must rid myself of this "gift" immediately before i end up in a mental institution. (though some may argue i already belong there...)
for example, on Sunday i went to see Martian Child with Lindsay. as i sat in the theater thinking how cute/ludicrous it was that a child actually believed he was from another planet, my right arm fell asleep. for some reason unbeknown to any logic, my immediate reaction is that i'm having a heart attack. i know, i know - stupid. but i seriously manage to convince myself that i may die right then and there in the movie theater. long after panic had set in, i managed to empower suspension of disbelief and remembered that numbness is a sign of stroke, not heart attack, and clearly i wasn't having a stroke... only an idiot would think i was having a stroke.
my rationale? your guess is as good as mine...
today i'm pretty sure i have a brain aneurysm. go figure.
Monday, November 05, 2007
for the love of BCBG
picture this, if you will: it's Saturday morning at 4:50am and i am awake. no, i'm not about to go crash in bed after a night of partying. i'm fumbling around my dark, cold room struggling to get dressed because Hanna will be picking me up in ten minutes. yes, i voluntarily woke up at 4:50am. why, dare you ask? as lame as it may sound, i'm a sucker for sales and the prospect of a $35 BCBG dress that originally retailed for $318 filled me with so much glee that i probably would have pulled an all nighter if that was required... anywho, we rushed to Maria's, stopped at the local Yum Yum Doughnuts, and started our quest.
the sale was located in a giant warehouse in the city of Vernon. what? you don't know where Vernon is? yeah, me neither. in order to paint a clear picture for you, allow me to divulge various findings on the way to, in the city of, and an on the way home...
on the drive to Vernon Maria's GPS told us to take surface streets the entire way there. thank Jesus, Mary and Joseph that it was 5:00am and no one was looming in the streets (except for the homeless girl who will now be referred to as a "ghost") because i was scared as it was. we passed a Chinese Food/Doughnuts place - weird. and we almost hit ghost who mildly resembled the girl from The Ring.
once we pseudo-safely arrived in Vernon we parked the car right next to a railroad track. sweet. i wonder if there were any dead hookers shoved under the rails... Maria has previously warned us that there would already be a line of bargain hunters outside the warehouse and we didn't believe her. let it be publicly known that i apologized to Maria, for as we approached our destination address it was clear that some people had actually slept outside the front door to guarantee that they'd be let in with the first round of shoppers. the line consisted of people of all shapes an sizes, women AND men, but mostly poorly dressed Asian girls wearing things such as bejeweled jeans and sweaters featuring cats. weird. (*please note i don't believe these people to be a regular sight in Vernon and guarantee no such sightings. please do not send me hate mail stating that you drove up and down the streets without seeing one cat sweater. yes, it was amazing, and no, i didn't take a picture of it.)
skip us rummaging rack after rack of goodies, weaving the shoe and handbag sections and checking out to us in the car making our way to the freeway. (because now it was clearly light out and the odds of us being shot/stabbed/mugged had gone from 30:1 to 2:1) i saw a chicken. what? you heard me. there was a chicken running in the road. (*this may be a typical sight in Vernon, however again, i make no guarantee.) i also saw two puppies frolicking up a four lane street. doesn't anyone keep animals indoors in this city?
fairytale ending is that i indeed purchased a BCBG dress for $35 that originally retailed for $318. all is well. god bless the city of Vernon.
picture this, if you will: it's Saturday morning at 4:50am and i am awake. no, i'm not about to go crash in bed after a night of partying. i'm fumbling around my dark, cold room struggling to get dressed because Hanna will be picking me up in ten minutes. yes, i voluntarily woke up at 4:50am. why, dare you ask? as lame as it may sound, i'm a sucker for sales and the prospect of a $35 BCBG dress that originally retailed for $318 filled me with so much glee that i probably would have pulled an all nighter if that was required... anywho, we rushed to Maria's, stopped at the local Yum Yum Doughnuts, and started our quest.
the sale was located in a giant warehouse in the city of Vernon. what? you don't know where Vernon is? yeah, me neither. in order to paint a clear picture for you, allow me to divulge various findings on the way to, in the city of, and an on the way home...
on the drive to Vernon Maria's GPS told us to take surface streets the entire way there. thank Jesus, Mary and Joseph that it was 5:00am and no one was looming in the streets (except for the homeless girl who will now be referred to as a "ghost") because i was scared as it was. we passed a Chinese Food/Doughnuts place - weird. and we almost hit ghost who mildly resembled the girl from The Ring.
once we pseudo-safely arrived in Vernon we parked the car right next to a railroad track. sweet. i wonder if there were any dead hookers shoved under the rails... Maria has previously warned us that there would already be a line of bargain hunters outside the warehouse and we didn't believe her. let it be publicly known that i apologized to Maria, for as we approached our destination address it was clear that some people had actually slept outside the front door to guarantee that they'd be let in with the first round of shoppers. the line consisted of people of all shapes an sizes, women AND men, but mostly poorly dressed Asian girls wearing things such as bejeweled jeans and sweaters featuring cats. weird. (*please note i don't believe these people to be a regular sight in Vernon and guarantee no such sightings. please do not send me hate mail stating that you drove up and down the streets without seeing one cat sweater. yes, it was amazing, and no, i didn't take a picture of it.)
skip us rummaging rack after rack of goodies, weaving the shoe and handbag sections and checking out to us in the car making our way to the freeway. (because now it was clearly light out and the odds of us being shot/stabbed/mugged had gone from 30:1 to 2:1) i saw a chicken. what? you heard me. there was a chicken running in the road. (*this may be a typical sight in Vernon, however again, i make no guarantee.) i also saw two puppies frolicking up a four lane street. doesn't anyone keep animals indoors in this city?
fairytale ending is that i indeed purchased a BCBG dress for $35 that originally retailed for $318. all is well. god bless the city of Vernon.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Friday, October 05, 2007
welcome to my 12-hour detox
i have decided to refrain from engaging in any human contact for the next twelve hours. granted, i will likely sleep through eight of them, but i remain firm in my decision and will feel immense satisfaction once this feat is accomplished. this detox came about for several reasons. allow me to share:
drinking is for losers. or lovers.
i've been spending too much money on alcohol lately. i know, i know. "engaging in any human contact" does not necessarily mean that i have to drink, but knowing myself (and my friends) tonight it really does. and i'm ok with that fact - just not tonight. work has really taken it's toll on me this week, and if i go out i'm 99% sure that i would be blackout drunk by 10:00pm. there is no light at the end of the tunnel right now, so it's a tequila shot chased by a Long Island kind of night. no need for another $112 bar tab. locking myself in my house with veggie pad thai and diet coke will suffice.
people are weird. and lame.
if i actually believed in time travel, i would honestly think that i had managed to jump ahead to October 26th because every one is acting like there's a full moon today. i've received the most random series of business and personal phone calls, text messages and emails in no particular order. as a result, i have become reclusive and defensive. thank goodness gracious that Lindsay works tonight not because i don't want to see her, but really for her own sake. i've self diagnosed myself as a complete bitch, so having some time for myself to cool off will allow me to morph back into my giggling, fabulous self.
i'll do what i want. for sure.
enough said.
to efficiently pass the time i have decided to work on my Holiday Card list for this year. yes, i am fully aware that it is October but that only means that December will be right around the corner. besides, i found the most amazing cards today, so i'm still on a mini greeting card high. snail mail is overlooked and under-rated. you don't realize how nice it is to receive something other than a bill or a coupon for Mystic Tan in the mail until you're actually reading it, so i urge you, friends, to send cards via the USPS as often as possible. i don't expect you to join me in the psycho realm of card giving (unless you so choose to with your own free will), but a two dollar folded cut of recycled paper and a 41 cent stamp can really go a long way. i digress.
see you in the a.m.
i have decided to refrain from engaging in any human contact for the next twelve hours. granted, i will likely sleep through eight of them, but i remain firm in my decision and will feel immense satisfaction once this feat is accomplished. this detox came about for several reasons. allow me to share:
drinking is for losers. or lovers.
i've been spending too much money on alcohol lately. i know, i know. "engaging in any human contact" does not necessarily mean that i have to drink, but knowing myself (and my friends) tonight it really does. and i'm ok with that fact - just not tonight. work has really taken it's toll on me this week, and if i go out i'm 99% sure that i would be blackout drunk by 10:00pm. there is no light at the end of the tunnel right now, so it's a tequila shot chased by a Long Island kind of night. no need for another $112 bar tab. locking myself in my house with veggie pad thai and diet coke will suffice.
people are weird. and lame.
if i actually believed in time travel, i would honestly think that i had managed to jump ahead to October 26th because every one is acting like there's a full moon today. i've received the most random series of business and personal phone calls, text messages and emails in no particular order. as a result, i have become reclusive and defensive. thank goodness gracious that Lindsay works tonight not because i don't want to see her, but really for her own sake. i've self diagnosed myself as a complete bitch, so having some time for myself to cool off will allow me to morph back into my giggling, fabulous self.
i'll do what i want. for sure.
enough said.
to efficiently pass the time i have decided to work on my Holiday Card list for this year. yes, i am fully aware that it is October but that only means that December will be right around the corner. besides, i found the most amazing cards today, so i'm still on a mini greeting card high. snail mail is overlooked and under-rated. you don't realize how nice it is to receive something other than a bill or a coupon for Mystic Tan in the mail until you're actually reading it, so i urge you, friends, to send cards via the USPS as often as possible. i don't expect you to join me in the psycho realm of card giving (unless you so choose to with your own free will), but a two dollar folded cut of recycled paper and a 41 cent stamp can really go a long way. i digress.
see you in the a.m.
Friday, September 21, 2007
narcolepsy is for lovers
Hanna and i went to dinner tonight and of course we fought over who got to pay the bill. then we went to Starbucks and yet again we fought over who got to pay the bill. i swear if i wasn't just at her wedding i would swear that we were married.
speaking of which, though, why do my friends suddenly feel the need to go off and get married?
i hope she makes it home without falling asleep at the wheel. i hear she's gone narcoleptic on me...
Hanna and i went to dinner tonight and of course we fought over who got to pay the bill. then we went to Starbucks and yet again we fought over who got to pay the bill. i swear if i wasn't just at her wedding i would swear that we were married.
speaking of which, though, why do my friends suddenly feel the need to go off and get married?
i hope she makes it home without falling asleep at the wheel. i hear she's gone narcoleptic on me...
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Friday, August 17, 2007
conjunction junction, what's your function
as i was browsing the obsolete yet absolutely necessary online community, myspace, i opened up a bulletin posted by a friend who shall for his/her own security remain nameless. i'm not going to lie, i was mildly excited at the prospect of this bulletin because written in the subject line it was disclosed that the post was a survey. well... i'm at work on a Friday afternoon with a pile upon pile cascaded across my desk. in two hours i'll be heading to Vegas - of course i'd fill out a freaking survey right now. duh...
disappointment can't even convey what i felt when i realized it was a "sex" survey. a would-you-do-this-or-would-you-do-that-with-me kind of deal. if i was a thirteen year old inbred slut from Kentucky, i'd probably be re-posting that shit right now. but instead i'm writing to all of you educated folk specifically to inform you that one of the questions read: Would you do foreplay with me?
WHAT?!!
let's fucking think about that one more time - would you DO foreplay with me? um... i don't know. would you do conversation with me? it's bad enough that people feel the need to casually toss "let's do lunch!" in every day normal conversation, but when did that become the norm when referring to sexual acts, too? what is this sick, sad world coming to? i'm distraught.
viva Las Vegas.
as i was browsing the obsolete yet absolutely necessary online community, myspace, i opened up a bulletin posted by a friend who shall for his/her own security remain nameless. i'm not going to lie, i was mildly excited at the prospect of this bulletin because written in the subject line it was disclosed that the post was a survey. well... i'm at work on a Friday afternoon with a pile upon pile cascaded across my desk. in two hours i'll be heading to Vegas - of course i'd fill out a freaking survey right now. duh...
disappointment can't even convey what i felt when i realized it was a "sex" survey. a would-you-do-this-or-would-you-do-that-with-me kind of deal. if i was a thirteen year old inbred slut from Kentucky, i'd probably be re-posting that shit right now. but instead i'm writing to all of you educated folk specifically to inform you that one of the questions read: Would you do foreplay with me?
WHAT?!!
let's fucking think about that one more time - would you DO foreplay with me? um... i don't know. would you do conversation with me? it's bad enough that people feel the need to casually toss "let's do lunch!" in every day normal conversation, but when did that become the norm when referring to sexual acts, too? what is this sick, sad world coming to? i'm distraught.
viva Las Vegas.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
SARS blows.
Katie and i met for dinner at Kaya tonight after i managed to escape the evil clutches of work. we were eating, talking, minding our own merry business when we began to notice that every once in a while some one from across the restaurant (presumably a man who likely idolized Aresnio Hall circa 1996) would release a large, SARS infested cough. how do i know he had SARS? probably because Katie and i now have it. how do i know we contracted SARS? probably because i did the research.
according to Wikipedia, the world's greatest fountain of here say knowledge, symptoms for the disease include fever, myalgia, lethargy, gastrointestinal symptoms, cough, sore throat and other non-specific symptoms. i definitely have been coughing, and those non-specific symptoms are a bitch to endure. i can only imagine what Katie is feeling now, as it seemed to affect her more initially than it affected me.
why can't people carry their own disposable surgical masks like Jennie Cathcart used to back in the FS days? at least we're not in South Africa where one whole person has previously contracted the disease and that one whole person has since left this precious world. that's a death rate of 100% in South Africa... scary.
if you don't see me or hear from me in a couple of days, please send a search party to my house to recover my deceased corpse. and tell my family i loved them.
Katie and i met for dinner at Kaya tonight after i managed to escape the evil clutches of work. we were eating, talking, minding our own merry business when we began to notice that every once in a while some one from across the restaurant (presumably a man who likely idolized Aresnio Hall circa 1996) would release a large, SARS infested cough. how do i know he had SARS? probably because Katie and i now have it. how do i know we contracted SARS? probably because i did the research.
according to Wikipedia, the world's greatest fountain of here say knowledge, symptoms for the disease include fever, myalgia, lethargy, gastrointestinal symptoms, cough, sore throat and other non-specific symptoms. i definitely have been coughing, and those non-specific symptoms are a bitch to endure. i can only imagine what Katie is feeling now, as it seemed to affect her more initially than it affected me.
why can't people carry their own disposable surgical masks like Jennie Cathcart used to back in the FS days? at least we're not in South Africa where one whole person has previously contracted the disease and that one whole person has since left this precious world. that's a death rate of 100% in South Africa... scary.
if you don't see me or hear from me in a couple of days, please send a search party to my house to recover my deceased corpse. and tell my family i loved them.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Saturdays are for lovers
due to my insatiable desire to never be bored or left out of any situation involving my wonderful friends, i haven't had a Saturday all to myself in a while. until today, that is. my love affair with lazy Saturdays has been reignited. lying in bed all morning has helped me realize that i've only been lying to myself for the past few months - i love doing nothing.
though i technically woke up around 9:00am, i have yet to actually get up other than to get a glass of water from the kitchen, and then again to brush my teeth and wash my face. poor Lindsay left for work about an hour ago, but i guess i had to work all week so i don't feel that guilty that i'm contemplating ordering a pizza or perhaps even El Tarasco to prolong my time spent in my bed. i love my bed.
maybe i'll get up at some point and head to the beach, but then again, maybe i won't... for now i'll continue to listen to Coltrane Motion and pretend that i didn't just watch the Enganged and Underaged episode that featured the union of two 19 year old lesbians. happy Saturday.
due to my insatiable desire to never be bored or left out of any situation involving my wonderful friends, i haven't had a Saturday all to myself in a while. until today, that is. my love affair with lazy Saturdays has been reignited. lying in bed all morning has helped me realize that i've only been lying to myself for the past few months - i love doing nothing.
though i technically woke up around 9:00am, i have yet to actually get up other than to get a glass of water from the kitchen, and then again to brush my teeth and wash my face. poor Lindsay left for work about an hour ago, but i guess i had to work all week so i don't feel that guilty that i'm contemplating ordering a pizza or perhaps even El Tarasco to prolong my time spent in my bed. i love my bed.
maybe i'll get up at some point and head to the beach, but then again, maybe i won't... for now i'll continue to listen to Coltrane Motion and pretend that i didn't just watch the Enganged and Underaged episode that featured the union of two 19 year old lesbians. happy Saturday.
Monday, August 06, 2007
talk about your highs and lows...
picture this if you will:
yesterday morning, about 8:15am i pull into the Noah's Bagels parking lot on Washington. i've just gone to CVS to get sunscreen for Nikki's b-day spa excursion. i find decent parking, get out of the car and start walking toward the entrance when i feel something stuck to the bottom of my left flip flop. assuming i've stepped in gum, i begrudgingly look down only to find one of the most disgusting sights i have ever seen. so disgusting, in fact, that i instantly threw up. no joke, i puked in the middle of the parking lot in front of i don't know how many people, for there stuck to the bottom of my flop was a used tampon. what? you didn't catch that the first time. oh, let me repeat it for you, then. some nasty ass bitch felt that she no longer needed the tampon she had previously inserted so she chucked it in the middle of a fucking parking lot and then it was stuck to my damn shoe. thank God i wasn't hungover or i would have spewed Exorcist style...
picture this if you will:
yesterday morning, about 8:15am i pull into the Noah's Bagels parking lot on Washington. i've just gone to CVS to get sunscreen for Nikki's b-day spa excursion. i find decent parking, get out of the car and start walking toward the entrance when i feel something stuck to the bottom of my left flip flop. assuming i've stepped in gum, i begrudgingly look down only to find one of the most disgusting sights i have ever seen. so disgusting, in fact, that i instantly threw up. no joke, i puked in the middle of the parking lot in front of i don't know how many people, for there stuck to the bottom of my flop was a used tampon. what? you didn't catch that the first time. oh, let me repeat it for you, then. some nasty ass bitch felt that she no longer needed the tampon she had previously inserted so she chucked it in the middle of a fucking parking lot and then it was stuck to my damn shoe. thank God i wasn't hungover or i would have spewed Exorcist style...
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Harry Potter and the YOU CAN GO FUCK YOURSELF
* DISCLAIMER *
please do not continue any further if you have not yet but fully intend to finish Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows.
with a nice big fat check safely deposited in her bank account, J.K. Rowling should have titled the 7th and final edition of the most successful children's book series of all time Harry Potter and the You Can Go Fuck Yourself; because that is basically what she told us, the reader, to do. "go fuck yourself," she said in her merry, British accent. sweet.
as a long time Potter fan, i naturally pre-ordered a copy months in advance and anxiously awaited the book's release. i was more than disappointed when my eyes couldn't stop scanning back and forth over the poorly written prose that haunts seven hundred and some odd pages of recyclable paper. the plot was slightly predictable in places (Harry ultimately ending up with Ginny, and Ron with Hermoine, Harry kills Voldemort, blah, blah, blah), yet completely preposterous in others (belittling Dumbledore's integrity, confirming that James Potter was not a respectable man, making Snape out to be the hero, and so on)
Rowling killed off lovable characters such as Fred (or was it George...), Lupin and Tonks without batting an eyelash. now i'm not saying that they should or shouldn't have been died - it was simply the lack of description and detail regarding their deaths that left me little time to actually understand what happened let alone mourn the loss. she might as well have written, "and then they were dead."
lack of imagination, loss of steam - i don't know what the real root problem was. and maybe i'm being harsh and didn't really have time to let things sink in due to the quick pace in which i finished the book, but for fuck's sake.
or maybe i just hate it when things come to an end. i wasn't a huge fan of how the Sopranos ended either, but i'll take a Journey tune and a fade to black any day over this waste of space on my bookshelf.
* DISCLAIMER *
please do not continue any further if you have not yet but fully intend to finish Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows.
with a nice big fat check safely deposited in her bank account, J.K. Rowling should have titled the 7th and final edition of the most successful children's book series of all time Harry Potter and the You Can Go Fuck Yourself; because that is basically what she told us, the reader, to do. "go fuck yourself," she said in her merry, British accent. sweet.
as a long time Potter fan, i naturally pre-ordered a copy months in advance and anxiously awaited the book's release. i was more than disappointed when my eyes couldn't stop scanning back and forth over the poorly written prose that haunts seven hundred and some odd pages of recyclable paper. the plot was slightly predictable in places (Harry ultimately ending up with Ginny, and Ron with Hermoine, Harry kills Voldemort, blah, blah, blah), yet completely preposterous in others (belittling Dumbledore's integrity, confirming that James Potter was not a respectable man, making Snape out to be the hero, and so on)
Rowling killed off lovable characters such as Fred (or was it George...), Lupin and Tonks without batting an eyelash. now i'm not saying that they should or shouldn't have been died - it was simply the lack of description and detail regarding their deaths that left me little time to actually understand what happened let alone mourn the loss. she might as well have written, "and then they were dead."
lack of imagination, loss of steam - i don't know what the real root problem was. and maybe i'm being harsh and didn't really have time to let things sink in due to the quick pace in which i finished the book, but for fuck's sake.
or maybe i just hate it when things come to an end. i wasn't a huge fan of how the Sopranos ended either, but i'll take a Journey tune and a fade to black any day over this waste of space on my bookshelf.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
remember me?
holy shit, it's been a while, eh kids? i guess the past few months have been busy, to say the least, but that doesn't mean wacky things haven't been processing through my head for your enjoyment. a recap of recent events:
i moved. yes, it's true - i'm once again a resident of The Deuce. it's actually not that bad. i love my little house, and Lu is a great roommate. we have a red light in the bathroom. i painted my room a toxic shade of yellow so every morning when i wake up i feel all happy and sunshiney inside. well, either happy or sunshiney or i'm pissed that i live in a neon cube. i've yet to wake up hungover in said room, but i'll be sure to let you know how that goes.
and i work too much. there, that's the last six weeks in a nutshell... i moved, and i work too much. what an exciting life i lead.
on a completely different note, do you know any 30 year old virgins? i'm thinking about making a documentary about the life of 30 year old virgins. if you do know one, please pass along my contact info. what? he/she's a Mormon? even better...
holy shit, it's been a while, eh kids? i guess the past few months have been busy, to say the least, but that doesn't mean wacky things haven't been processing through my head for your enjoyment. a recap of recent events:
i moved. yes, it's true - i'm once again a resident of The Deuce. it's actually not that bad. i love my little house, and Lu is a great roommate. we have a red light in the bathroom. i painted my room a toxic shade of yellow so every morning when i wake up i feel all happy and sunshiney inside. well, either happy or sunshiney or i'm pissed that i live in a neon cube. i've yet to wake up hungover in said room, but i'll be sure to let you know how that goes.
and i work too much. there, that's the last six weeks in a nutshell... i moved, and i work too much. what an exciting life i lead.
on a completely different note, do you know any 30 year old virgins? i'm thinking about making a documentary about the life of 30 year old virgins. if you do know one, please pass along my contact info. what? he/she's a Mormon? even better...
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
the Ducks are dicks
we all knew that the former "Mighty", now just Ducks of Anaheim were assholes. talented? unquestionably. no one is denying that they have immense talent on the blue line and a deep bench, but bottom line is they are assholes. this was further proved when Detroit's Tomas Holmstrom required 13 stitches on his forehead after his face was lovingly smashed into the glass by both Rob Niedermayer and prodigal son Chris Pronger, who wasn't even penalized. bullshit. this is taking a lot out of me, because those of you who know me well enough know that i in fact am not so fond of the Red Wings, either, but enough is enough.
the only thing missing (which could have potentially caused me actually vomit on the spot) was Bryan Hayward's nagging voice explaining how it was Holmstrom's fault that he was lying flat on his back bleeding...
we all knew that the former "Mighty", now just Ducks of Anaheim were assholes. talented? unquestionably. no one is denying that they have immense talent on the blue line and a deep bench, but bottom line is they are assholes. this was further proved when Detroit's Tomas Holmstrom required 13 stitches on his forehead after his face was lovingly smashed into the glass by both Rob Niedermayer and prodigal son Chris Pronger, who wasn't even penalized. bullshit. this is taking a lot out of me, because those of you who know me well enough know that i in fact am not so fond of the Red Wings, either, but enough is enough.
the only thing missing (which could have potentially caused me actually vomit on the spot) was Bryan Hayward's nagging voice explaining how it was Holmstrom's fault that he was lying flat on his back bleeding...
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
I Contracted the Syndrome
The Deadly Syndrome, that is.
When I told my friends I would be trekking out to Anaheim’s own Chain Reaction last Tuesday night, most assumed I was excited to catch Silverlake darlings Monsters Are Waiting. They were partially correct (though no partial credit was given), as I wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to see the headlining act for a mere ten bucks. But really, I was giddy to see my latest obsession: The Deadly Syndrome.
This quartet of lads may appear your typical skinny-jean fad-loving pack of Indie Rock boys, but thirty seconds into their set it is apparent that their sound is anything but. What some may call pop-ish, others might classify as folky. Whatever you want to call it, The Deadly Syndrome’s catchy guitar hooks mixed with decisive beats and nimble piano lines leave you little chance of standing still when they are on stage. If lovers wear their hearts on their sleeves, singer/bassist Chris Richard bottles the essence of his soul and sells it by the glass when he performs. His haunting falsetto and utter sincerity throughout "I Hope I Become a Ghost" reminded me why I fell in love with music at the tender age of nine.
The venue's staff was clearly incapable of keeping track of time, as the show was already running late when The Deadly Syndrome took the stage. They were forced to cut their set short before having a chance to play crowd favorite "Eucalyptus," which often warrants all four members gathered around the drum kit in an all out free-for-all. Still, broken drumsticks or not, once again these boys proved why they were picked up by L.A.'s Dim Mak Records.
Word on the street is their debut album will be released in the fall, likely followed by a tour which will only help spread the Syndrome. In fact, get ready for an epidemic.
The Deadly Syndrome, that is.
When I told my friends I would be trekking out to Anaheim’s own Chain Reaction last Tuesday night, most assumed I was excited to catch Silverlake darlings Monsters Are Waiting. They were partially correct (though no partial credit was given), as I wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to see the headlining act for a mere ten bucks. But really, I was giddy to see my latest obsession: The Deadly Syndrome.
This quartet of lads may appear your typical skinny-jean fad-loving pack of Indie Rock boys, but thirty seconds into their set it is apparent that their sound is anything but. What some may call pop-ish, others might classify as folky. Whatever you want to call it, The Deadly Syndrome’s catchy guitar hooks mixed with decisive beats and nimble piano lines leave you little chance of standing still when they are on stage. If lovers wear their hearts on their sleeves, singer/bassist Chris Richard bottles the essence of his soul and sells it by the glass when he performs. His haunting falsetto and utter sincerity throughout "I Hope I Become a Ghost" reminded me why I fell in love with music at the tender age of nine.
The venue's staff was clearly incapable of keeping track of time, as the show was already running late when The Deadly Syndrome took the stage. They were forced to cut their set short before having a chance to play crowd favorite "Eucalyptus," which often warrants all four members gathered around the drum kit in an all out free-for-all. Still, broken drumsticks or not, once again these boys proved why they were picked up by L.A.'s Dim Mak Records.
Word on the street is their debut album will be released in the fall, likely followed by a tour which will only help spread the Syndrome. In fact, get ready for an epidemic.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
our flight from the devil's version of heaven
i'm not much of a morning person, which is why i am just as surprised as you are that i was bright eyed and bushy tailed when my alarm went off at 5:00am. but i was. and so was Nikki. one thing was apparent: we were muy excited.
Danielle graciously dropped us off at the Alaska Terminal of LAX because that's what our iterniraries read - Alaska Airlines. but as the rude Alaska employee pointed out after we failed self check-in, "Operated by American Airlines" was written in a non-descript font near the bottom of the paper. WTF?
after a nice hike across LAX, we wish we were actually flying Alaska (which was DEAD) because American is bumpin'. Nikki flirts with one of the TSA guys, we skip the baggage line. we loudly whine while conveniently near another TSA worker that we may miss our flight, we skip to the front of the security line. things are finally looking up, and the memory of running past Hal Fishman and his creepy camera man is almost out of my mind. "let the good times roll," i say to myself.
well, come to find out, the only thing that would be rolling is the old man on the floor that was sitting two rows in front of us. i seriously thought he was having a heart attack, but maybe he shouldn't have tried to go to the bathroom while the plane was making it's initial ascent and the fasten seat belt sign was still on.
we are sitting in the very last row of this god damn airplane and Nikki often has an ass or a crotch (either gender) in her face when the line from the lavatory exceeds more than one person - which is 99% of the time. FYI, i could stick my finger in mouth right now if i really wanted to. that lucky bitch managed to fall back asleep again.
the knock off version of Three Six Mafia is sitting to our right - how many "hard core" gangsters do you know wear a white mesh fedora with Quiksilver shorts? yeah... me neither.
there is a lovely waft of piss scent that comes out of the air ducts every once in a while due to the fact that we're practically sitting in the bathroom.
our seats do not recline. sitting straight up and trying to sleep next to an odd man that keeps turning my reading light on for me much to my displeasure is not an easy task.
the in-flight movie is "Charlotte's Web".
my diet coke tastes likke it has arsenic in it. not that i've ever tasted arsenic before, but something definitely does not taste right and i'm tired and mellodramatic so if i want to say it's arsenic, i will.
(wow, talk about being a brat...)
the entire plane cabin wreaks of old people. if some one were to bottle a scent and label it "geriatric", this is for sure what it would smell like. there must be an entire retirement home on this freaking flight.
my iPod is about to die. are we there yet?
every once in a while the old man sitting in the row directly in front of us (not to be confused with the old man tworows in front of us who ate shit earlier. i still can't quite grasp what actually happened to him.) stands up, i have the distinct pleasure of seeing his ass crack. apparently the low rise jean trend does not have any age/gender barriers. sweet.
the only bright spot is that "Rockin' to Life" by These Guys just came up on random play on my soon to be dead iPod. you're just in time for the fun train? i wish...
one thing is now apparent: i need a drink.
NOTE:this blog entry was originally scribbled on a combination of torn out sudoku book pages and airplane napkins due to the lack of an electronic device with a normal battery capacity but perhaps most importantly to preserve the authenticity and explicit attnetion to detail of the above mentioned events.
i'm not much of a morning person, which is why i am just as surprised as you are that i was bright eyed and bushy tailed when my alarm went off at 5:00am. but i was. and so was Nikki. one thing was apparent: we were muy excited.
Danielle graciously dropped us off at the Alaska Terminal of LAX because that's what our iterniraries read - Alaska Airlines. but as the rude Alaska employee pointed out after we failed self check-in, "Operated by American Airlines" was written in a non-descript font near the bottom of the paper. WTF?
after a nice hike across LAX, we wish we were actually flying Alaska (which was DEAD) because American is bumpin'. Nikki flirts with one of the TSA guys, we skip the baggage line. we loudly whine while conveniently near another TSA worker that we may miss our flight, we skip to the front of the security line. things are finally looking up, and the memory of running past Hal Fishman and his creepy camera man is almost out of my mind. "let the good times roll," i say to myself.
well, come to find out, the only thing that would be rolling is the old man on the floor that was sitting two rows in front of us. i seriously thought he was having a heart attack, but maybe he shouldn't have tried to go to the bathroom while the plane was making it's initial ascent and the fasten seat belt sign was still on.
we are sitting in the very last row of this god damn airplane and Nikki often has an ass or a crotch (either gender) in her face when the line from the lavatory exceeds more than one person - which is 99% of the time. FYI, i could stick my finger in mouth right now if i really wanted to. that lucky bitch managed to fall back asleep again.
the knock off version of Three Six Mafia is sitting to our right - how many "hard core" gangsters do you know wear a white mesh fedora with Quiksilver shorts? yeah... me neither.
there is a lovely waft of piss scent that comes out of the air ducts every once in a while due to the fact that we're practically sitting in the bathroom.
our seats do not recline. sitting straight up and trying to sleep next to an odd man that keeps turning my reading light on for me much to my displeasure is not an easy task.
the in-flight movie is "Charlotte's Web".
my diet coke tastes likke it has arsenic in it. not that i've ever tasted arsenic before, but something definitely does not taste right and i'm tired and mellodramatic so if i want to say it's arsenic, i will.
(wow, talk about being a brat...)
the entire plane cabin wreaks of old people. if some one were to bottle a scent and label it "geriatric", this is for sure what it would smell like. there must be an entire retirement home on this freaking flight.
my iPod is about to die. are we there yet?
every once in a while the old man sitting in the row directly in front of us (not to be confused with the old man tworows in front of us who ate shit earlier. i still can't quite grasp what actually happened to him.) stands up, i have the distinct pleasure of seeing his ass crack. apparently the low rise jean trend does not have any age/gender barriers. sweet.
the only bright spot is that "Rockin' to Life" by These Guys just came up on random play on my soon to be dead iPod. you're just in time for the fun train? i wish...
one thing is now apparent: i need a drink.
NOTE:this blog entry was originally scribbled on a combination of torn out sudoku book pages and airplane napkins due to the lack of an electronic device with a normal battery capacity but perhaps most importantly to preserve the authenticity and explicit attnetion to detail of the above mentioned events.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
let the bodies hit the floor*
yesterday i was virtually useless. i'm pretty sure i was still mildly stoned, and possesed the energy of a bumble bee that clearly already stung some poor sap and is about to die, so i'm not quite sure what motivated me to get off the couch at 7:15pm in hopes of making it to The Echo with Danielle by eight o'clock. but something did - clearly.
for a good part of our drive, i force Danielle to listen to Movin' 93.9 - it was awesome. i think she loved it. correction. i know she loved it.
after a patch of weird traffic, we arrive at The Echo. or at least we arrive in the vicinity of where The Echo should be. you see, neither of us had ever been there before so we're basically driving up and down Glendale Boulevard looking for any sign of a show - boys in tight jeans, underage kids coughing as they don't inhale their first drag of a Marlboro Light, anything. i tell Danielle to turn down an alley that i hoped would mysteriously lead us in the right direction, but it actually turns out to be an odd, long driveway to a Christian Education Center. we turn the corner into the actual parking lot where we find a small Asian boy with a gun. no, it was not a real gun (at least i told myself it wasn't real), and no, in no way did i make any sort of connection between this little boy and the Virginia Tech shooting. but yes, i was honestly scared. i got hot in the face, the whole nine yards. how would you feel if you saw a kid holding a fake gun in a dimly lit parking lot in Echo Park? that's what i thought...
we manage to escape the clutches of the armed child and realize that we need to enter on Sunset - NOT Glendale (thanks, Patrick) - but the line is already huge. i'm talking over the bridge, around the corner, that's what she said HUGE. so we did the only logical thing that we could do - we cut. and not just a few people. we managed to become like the 15th and 16th people in line. Danielle was flawless. i on the other hand was visibly nervous, but looking back, i'm once again going to blame the child with a gun and maybe some pot-induced paranoia. but seriously, all it took was a little talk about an ice cream truck, how we used to like the Pink Panther things with the gumball eyes, lo and behold some dude is actually eating a Pink Panther thing with the gumball eyes. i don't know how it all worked out so perfectly, but it did. except for the whole waiting thing. that wasn't very perfect, because we stood outside for a good two hours. but let's not talk about that anymore.
once inside, we proceed straight to the bar. Danielle orders us doubles, and we start the night off right: sipping a glass of vodka. The Deadly Syndrome are already playing, we start dancing, and i begin to forget that i could have been shot (with water, a nerf missile - WHATEVER).
but also at this point, i decide the pain in my feet is no longer worth the extra two inches of height which my shoes are conveniently providing, so i take them off. i know what just went through your head: i'm standing in a crowded bar/club/show with weird creepy people and am now barefoot. disgusting. trust me, i wrestled with the idea in my head for a good twenty minutes before throwing in the towel. had i not stood in a line for two hours outside waiting to get in i'm confident i could have withstood the entire evening in those heels. but i did stand in line for two hours, and i was well into my second drink so i felt ok with the idea of being sans shoes.
that is, until i stepped on broken glass. once Klaxons came out, the already creepy crowd grew progressively creepier by starting a faux-mosh pit. the three hundred pound man to my left started throwing his weight around, and the possibly-gay-possibly-straight thruster to my right kept on thrusting. Danielle and i are wide eyed and giggly, spilling our drinks on anyone within a five foot radius when all of a sudden i feel a sharp pain in my right foot. i'm debating if this is an aftershock of my pre-existing foot woes, or if this is brand new. oh, it's brand new. i quickly realize this when i look down and see glass shards on the floor. in the midst of all the moshing-but-not-moshing, some one apparently got excited and threw their beer bottle on the ground. so i tell Danielle "i think i stepped on broken glass" which led to the best line of the night: "are you sure it's not ice?"
wow, this is really taking a lot out of me. a lot more happened than i originally remembered, and sitting here detailing the events to you has opened the flood gates in my head. i wasn't prepared for this. i've probably slept a combined total of 7 hours (if that) the past two nights. this is too much. i quit.
* the title of this post may not seem relevant, so allow me to explain. last night when i was stuck in the middle of the sea of pseudo moshing, that Drowning Pool song "Bodies" popped into my head and has been there ever since. don't ask. i never do.
yesterday i was virtually useless. i'm pretty sure i was still mildly stoned, and possesed the energy of a bumble bee that clearly already stung some poor sap and is about to die, so i'm not quite sure what motivated me to get off the couch at 7:15pm in hopes of making it to The Echo with Danielle by eight o'clock. but something did - clearly.
for a good part of our drive, i force Danielle to listen to Movin' 93.9 - it was awesome. i think she loved it. correction. i know she loved it.
after a patch of weird traffic, we arrive at The Echo. or at least we arrive in the vicinity of where The Echo should be. you see, neither of us had ever been there before so we're basically driving up and down Glendale Boulevard looking for any sign of a show - boys in tight jeans, underage kids coughing as they don't inhale their first drag of a Marlboro Light, anything. i tell Danielle to turn down an alley that i hoped would mysteriously lead us in the right direction, but it actually turns out to be an odd, long driveway to a Christian Education Center. we turn the corner into the actual parking lot where we find a small Asian boy with a gun. no, it was not a real gun (at least i told myself it wasn't real), and no, in no way did i make any sort of connection between this little boy and the Virginia Tech shooting. but yes, i was honestly scared. i got hot in the face, the whole nine yards. how would you feel if you saw a kid holding a fake gun in a dimly lit parking lot in Echo Park? that's what i thought...
we manage to escape the clutches of the armed child and realize that we need to enter on Sunset - NOT Glendale (thanks, Patrick) - but the line is already huge. i'm talking over the bridge, around the corner, that's what she said HUGE. so we did the only logical thing that we could do - we cut. and not just a few people. we managed to become like the 15th and 16th people in line. Danielle was flawless. i on the other hand was visibly nervous, but looking back, i'm once again going to blame the child with a gun and maybe some pot-induced paranoia. but seriously, all it took was a little talk about an ice cream truck, how we used to like the Pink Panther things with the gumball eyes, lo and behold some dude is actually eating a Pink Panther thing with the gumball eyes. i don't know how it all worked out so perfectly, but it did. except for the whole waiting thing. that wasn't very perfect, because we stood outside for a good two hours. but let's not talk about that anymore.
once inside, we proceed straight to the bar. Danielle orders us doubles, and we start the night off right: sipping a glass of vodka. The Deadly Syndrome are already playing, we start dancing, and i begin to forget that i could have been shot (with water, a nerf missile - WHATEVER).
but also at this point, i decide the pain in my feet is no longer worth the extra two inches of height which my shoes are conveniently providing, so i take them off. i know what just went through your head: i'm standing in a crowded bar/club/show with weird creepy people and am now barefoot. disgusting. trust me, i wrestled with the idea in my head for a good twenty minutes before throwing in the towel. had i not stood in a line for two hours outside waiting to get in i'm confident i could have withstood the entire evening in those heels. but i did stand in line for two hours, and i was well into my second drink so i felt ok with the idea of being sans shoes.
that is, until i stepped on broken glass. once Klaxons came out, the already creepy crowd grew progressively creepier by starting a faux-mosh pit. the three hundred pound man to my left started throwing his weight around, and the possibly-gay-possibly-straight thruster to my right kept on thrusting. Danielle and i are wide eyed and giggly, spilling our drinks on anyone within a five foot radius when all of a sudden i feel a sharp pain in my right foot. i'm debating if this is an aftershock of my pre-existing foot woes, or if this is brand new. oh, it's brand new. i quickly realize this when i look down and see glass shards on the floor. in the midst of all the moshing-but-not-moshing, some one apparently got excited and threw their beer bottle on the ground. so i tell Danielle "i think i stepped on broken glass" which led to the best line of the night: "are you sure it's not ice?"
wow, this is really taking a lot out of me. a lot more happened than i originally remembered, and sitting here detailing the events to you has opened the flood gates in my head. i wasn't prepared for this. i've probably slept a combined total of 7 hours (if that) the past two nights. this is too much. i quit.
* the title of this post may not seem relevant, so allow me to explain. last night when i was stuck in the middle of the sea of pseudo moshing, that Drowning Pool song "Bodies" popped into my head and has been there ever since. don't ask. i never do.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
420: the aftermath
wow. what a night. what a strange, glorious night.
first, let me start by recognizing that at more than one point last evening i was definitely not ok. like wickedly bugging out not ok. luckily, i managed to stay awake and some how rallied through a self imposed state of dementia. but seriously... so not ok. almost to the point that i feel inclined to apologize to any one that saw me. or not. maybe not that not ok. but almost.
some of my favorite moments (that i can actually remember) in no particular order:
- Miles and i were outside on the front balcony smoking a cigarette. both of us were so beyond stoned that we just stood there in complete silence for what seemed like 25 minutes (in actuality, it was probably two and a half - three tops) before he managed to speak. i don't remember what he said exactly, but i laughed and then ran away giggling "i have to get out of here".
- Chadrock bought pizza. a lot of pizza.
- Katie was telling us how she's going to record an internet game show today where she has to answer true/false trivia and hope that the World's Smartest Chicken doesn't show her up. Nikki and i found this to be hilariously retarded. and then Nikki asks, "what happens if the chicken gets it not wrong?" umm... you mean, what happen if the chicken gets is right? maybe you had to be there. or maybe i conjured the laugh. i don't know. i think i'm still stoned.
- we had kiwi strawberry jello shots.
- Chad the cousin passed out for an undisclosed amount of time on the couch. he also cradled a roll of paper towels as if it were his first born child.
- Dave kept eating the pot candy even though he was already fucked up. at one point, he pulled a melty wrapped candy bar out of his pocket and offered me a bite. i accepted. but it was weird and melty from being in his pocket and after it was already in my mouth i wished i hadn't accepted.
- every one kept telling me that my eyes were small. "Cori, why do you look so Japanese tonight?" or "Cori, why aren't your eyes open?" were some FAQs thrown my way. none of which i had an answer for.
and that's about all i can recall. i know a lot more happened (for heaven's sake, you people didn't leave my house until 4:30am), but as previously stated this is what i can remember.
wow. what a night. what a strange, glorious night.
first, let me start by recognizing that at more than one point last evening i was definitely not ok. like wickedly bugging out not ok. luckily, i managed to stay awake and some how rallied through a self imposed state of dementia. but seriously... so not ok. almost to the point that i feel inclined to apologize to any one that saw me. or not. maybe not that not ok. but almost.
some of my favorite moments (that i can actually remember) in no particular order:
- Miles and i were outside on the front balcony smoking a cigarette. both of us were so beyond stoned that we just stood there in complete silence for what seemed like 25 minutes (in actuality, it was probably two and a half - three tops) before he managed to speak. i don't remember what he said exactly, but i laughed and then ran away giggling "i have to get out of here".
- Chadrock bought pizza. a lot of pizza.
- Katie was telling us how she's going to record an internet game show today where she has to answer true/false trivia and hope that the World's Smartest Chicken doesn't show her up. Nikki and i found this to be hilariously retarded. and then Nikki asks, "what happens if the chicken gets it not wrong?" umm... you mean, what happen if the chicken gets is right? maybe you had to be there. or maybe i conjured the laugh. i don't know. i think i'm still stoned.
- we had kiwi strawberry jello shots.
- Chad the cousin passed out for an undisclosed amount of time on the couch. he also cradled a roll of paper towels as if it were his first born child.
- Dave kept eating the pot candy even though he was already fucked up. at one point, he pulled a melty wrapped candy bar out of his pocket and offered me a bite. i accepted. but it was weird and melty from being in his pocket and after it was already in my mouth i wished i hadn't accepted.
- every one kept telling me that my eyes were small. "Cori, why do you look so Japanese tonight?" or "Cori, why aren't your eyes open?" were some FAQs thrown my way. none of which i had an answer for.
and that's about all i can recall. i know a lot more happened (for heaven's sake, you people didn't leave my house until 4:30am), but as previously stated this is what i can remember.
Friday, March 30, 2007
scheming is believing
let me preface this entry by stating for the record that i love my new job. i really do. i feel so fortunate to have found a position with a company that put it's employees first - a difference that is night and day compared to my last gig. don't get me wrong, rolling in the Sequoia was nice and all, but the dozen or so daily tirades weren't exactly worth the migraines and my no longer recreational vicodin addiction.
BUT (you all knew it was coming...) the one thing i can't stand is the fact that they have communal music blaring all day long. and i know what you're thinking - if the only thing i have to complain about is the music then i should shut the hell up, especially because i am a lover of (just about) all music. i'm talking Hot 92.3 Jams type shit ALL FUCKING DAY LONG, though. and if it's not Joe's "I Wanna Know"-esque type songs, KBIG 104/Kelly Clarkson and Beyonce ballads for eight consecutive hours. much to my displeasure/delight, i now know every word to "Irreplaceable". the first week was... ok. second week, eh, started nervously tapping my nails on the desk. and now... now i want to gouge my eyes out with a paper clip. i live/eat/breathe/sleep/sing these wretched songs day and night. the soundtrack to my dreams has shifted from Ben Gibbard singing sweet nothings while i frolick in a field of sunflowers to Ginuine screaming "ride it, my pony" as the masked killer from the Scream movies chases me into a Radio Shack.
i've spent the past four hours trying to come up with a way i could inconspicuously climb to the rafters of the building and disconnect the speaker system. i've pictured myself in an all camo outfit shimmying from beam to beam, snipping wires with the scissors that are conveniently located in my top desk drawer left and right. i then thought i should try and utilize my former Girl Scout archery training (yes, i was a Girl Scout) and shoot out each speaker individually from the comfort of my own desk. only problem is, i don't have a bow and arrow set, nor know where to get one that isn't plastic. and now that i think about it, i'm pretty sure i failed the archery patch...
shit. [sung] to the left, to the left. everything you own in a box to the left.
let me preface this entry by stating for the record that i love my new job. i really do. i feel so fortunate to have found a position with a company that put it's employees first - a difference that is night and day compared to my last gig. don't get me wrong, rolling in the Sequoia was nice and all, but the dozen or so daily tirades weren't exactly worth the migraines and my no longer recreational vicodin addiction.
BUT (you all knew it was coming...) the one thing i can't stand is the fact that they have communal music blaring all day long. and i know what you're thinking - if the only thing i have to complain about is the music then i should shut the hell up, especially because i am a lover of (just about) all music. i'm talking Hot 92.3 Jams type shit ALL FUCKING DAY LONG, though. and if it's not Joe's "I Wanna Know"-esque type songs, KBIG 104/Kelly Clarkson and Beyonce ballads for eight consecutive hours. much to my displeasure/delight, i now know every word to "Irreplaceable". the first week was... ok. second week, eh, started nervously tapping my nails on the desk. and now... now i want to gouge my eyes out with a paper clip. i live/eat/breathe/sleep/sing these wretched songs day and night. the soundtrack to my dreams has shifted from Ben Gibbard singing sweet nothings while i frolick in a field of sunflowers to Ginuine screaming "ride it, my pony" as the masked killer from the Scream movies chases me into a Radio Shack.
i've spent the past four hours trying to come up with a way i could inconspicuously climb to the rafters of the building and disconnect the speaker system. i've pictured myself in an all camo outfit shimmying from beam to beam, snipping wires with the scissors that are conveniently located in my top desk drawer left and right. i then thought i should try and utilize my former Girl Scout archery training (yes, i was a Girl Scout) and shoot out each speaker individually from the comfort of my own desk. only problem is, i don't have a bow and arrow set, nor know where to get one that isn't plastic. and now that i think about it, i'm pretty sure i failed the archery patch...
shit. [sung] to the left, to the left. everything you own in a box to the left.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!
ok, this is probably the most useless information i've ever written in my blog, but i have to share it with you because i need a shoulder to cry on. and if i actually picked up the phone and called (you know, you. the one reading this shit.), you would undoubtedly laugh in my face. i'd rather you laugh behind my back (assuming i'm not sitting next to you when you read this.)
all day at work, i've randomly been playing games of Free Cell. i don't know if any of you are Free Cell geeks like i am, but if you click "File" then "Statistics", it will (obviously) show you your current win/loss stats. i was on a twelve game winning streak. T-W-E-L-V-E. that might not seem like a lot, but i dare you to shout "victory is mine!" twelve wins. consecutive wins, damn it.
i just lost. i hate you, thirteen. i hate you. unless of course thirteen is referring to Michael Cammalleri in which case i love you, thirteen. love, love, love you.
is it 6:00pm yet?
side note: i'm really into parenthesis today. who knew?
ok, this is probably the most useless information i've ever written in my blog, but i have to share it with you because i need a shoulder to cry on. and if i actually picked up the phone and called
all day at work, i've randomly been playing games of Free Cell. i don't know if any of you are Free Cell geeks like i am, but if you click "File" then "Statistics", it will (obviously) show you your current win/loss stats. i was on a twelve game winning streak. T-W-E-L-V-E. that might not seem like a lot, but i dare you to shout "victory is mine!" twelve wins. consecutive wins, damn it.
i just lost. i hate you, thirteen. i hate you. unless of course thirteen is referring to Michael Cammalleri in which case i love you, thirteen. love, love, love you.
is it 6:00pm yet?
side note: i'm really into parenthesis today. who knew?
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
shameless plug
for those of you who are in the know or simply in the dark, i'm currently completing an internship with advice guru E. Jean Carroll. part of my first task is to help promote her new site, so without further ado...
ADVICE VIXENS!
check it before you wreck it.
and while you're at it, add the newly formed AV myspace to your ever growing list of myspace friends. AV on MYSPACE!
(and no, i'm not the one monitoring the myspace site so please don't post stupid comments specifically about me b/c it will actually in fact post directly to AV site)
ciao, bella.
for those of you who are in the know or simply in the dark, i'm currently completing an internship with advice guru E. Jean Carroll. part of my first task is to help promote her new site, so without further ado...
ADVICE VIXENS!
check it before you wreck it.
and while you're at it, add the newly formed AV myspace to your ever growing list of myspace friends. AV on MYSPACE!
(and no, i'm not the one monitoring the myspace site so please don't post stupid comments specifically about me b/c it will actually in fact post directly to AV site)
ciao, bella.
Monday, March 19, 2007
i'm goin' down to South Park gonna have myself a time
i swear on the un-holy bible that the cabbie we hitched a ride with on Friday night believed that he was Eric Cartman from South Park.
at first, i thought it was a funny joke and that he'd drop the Cartman voice and weird South Park references; but after he called Nikki a redneck, and Katie a hippie and wished that he had some cheesy poofs for the ump-teenth time i about peed in my pants (skirt) due to uncontrollable laughter.
did i mention he drove like a maniac and there were multiple times i was sure the van was going to flip over?
luckily we got his card.
i swear on the un-holy bible that the cabbie we hitched a ride with on Friday night believed that he was Eric Cartman from South Park.
at first, i thought it was a funny joke and that he'd drop the Cartman voice and weird South Park references; but after he called Nikki a redneck, and Katie a hippie and wished that he had some cheesy poofs for the ump-teenth time i about peed in my pants (skirt) due to uncontrollable laughter.
did i mention he drove like a maniac and there were multiple times i was sure the van was going to flip over?
luckily we got his card.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
it's a sad, sick time
Kings fans, take a moment, let's bow our heads and mourn a great loss.
rarely do i write anything but cute anecdotes of drunken/high/silly times because let's face it - i give the people what they want. but for the sake of my father, my brother, myself and any other true blue we'll stand by you even when you're second to last in the entire NHL Kings fans, i feel this post is justified. not a sports fan? you can stop reading. i won't take it personally. not a hockey fan? definitely may want to stop reading.
you're still here? you like me. you really like me.
my heart has once again been ripped out of my chest and stomped upon by the Los Angeles Kings organization. it was announced yesterday that the Kings captain Mattias Norstrom was traded to Dallas for none other than Jaroslav Modry. Modry, who four short years ago the Kings said "fell short of expectations", which resulted in his own trade to Dallas. Modry, who was booed out off of his home ice by disgruntled Los Angeles fans (though i personally never had any real problem with him and firmly believe that you never, under any circumstances, boo your own team). Modry for Norstrom?
and don't get all technical with me and say that we also got two draft picks and Johan Fransson because really who the fuck is Johan Fransson? maybe he'll come here and do great things, but the bottom line is he will never fill the skates worn by El Capitan. never.
you couldn't get me a Chara or a Phaneuf? the loss of Matty would still sting, but at least i'd feel a little better. MODRY? i will never understand. at least Matty will have a chance with Dallas to do something, because unlike our depleting, disheveled bunch, Dave Tippett's team has the potential to go somewhere. i may become a Dallas fan...
so Dean Lombardi, you build your dream team of "youngsters" who will be future stars. after all, isn't that what the Kings have been doing all along? look what a super star Jamie Storr is... oh wait, he is now in the German Elite League. and Jared Aulin... don't get me wrong, he was a good looking kid, but what benefit was he after we got rid of Blake for him? if we're all about the young talent then where is Gleason? Corvo? Belanger? Avery? gone, gone, gone and gone.
for the first time in my life, i uttered the unspeakable. last night i told my dad "i hate the Kings". and i meant it...
Kings fans, take a moment, let's bow our heads and mourn a great loss.
rarely do i write anything but cute anecdotes of drunken/high/silly times because let's face it - i give the people what they want. but for the sake of my father, my brother, myself and any other true blue we'll stand by you even when you're second to last in the entire NHL Kings fans, i feel this post is justified. not a sports fan? you can stop reading. i won't take it personally. not a hockey fan? definitely may want to stop reading.
you're still here? you like me. you really like me.
my heart has once again been ripped out of my chest and stomped upon by the Los Angeles Kings organization. it was announced yesterday that the Kings captain Mattias Norstrom was traded to Dallas for none other than Jaroslav Modry. Modry, who four short years ago the Kings said "fell short of expectations", which resulted in his own trade to Dallas. Modry, who was booed out off of his home ice by disgruntled Los Angeles fans (though i personally never had any real problem with him and firmly believe that you never, under any circumstances, boo your own team). Modry for Norstrom?
and don't get all technical with me and say that we also got two draft picks and Johan Fransson because really who the fuck is Johan Fransson? maybe he'll come here and do great things, but the bottom line is he will never fill the skates worn by El Capitan. never.
you couldn't get me a Chara or a Phaneuf? the loss of Matty would still sting, but at least i'd feel a little better. MODRY? i will never understand. at least Matty will have a chance with Dallas to do something, because unlike our depleting, disheveled bunch, Dave Tippett's team has the potential to go somewhere. i may become a Dallas fan...
so Dean Lombardi, you build your dream team of "youngsters" who will be future stars. after all, isn't that what the Kings have been doing all along? look what a super star Jamie Storr is... oh wait, he is now in the German Elite League. and Jared Aulin... don't get me wrong, he was a good looking kid, but what benefit was he after we got rid of Blake for him? if we're all about the young talent then where is Gleason? Corvo? Belanger? Avery? gone, gone, gone and gone.
for the first time in my life, i uttered the unspeakable. last night i told my dad "i hate the Kings". and i meant it...
Saturday, February 24, 2007
linked by a semi-common thread
last Friday, Danielle and i dropped Nikki off at the airport and then proceeded directly to Penguin's for a delicious frozen treat. on the ride there, her scar from the outdoor heater incident* began to hurt. granted, i was a little stoned but i started laughing uncontrollably and told her she was the new Harry Potter and evil was near**. though i'm not even sure Dani is even a HP fan, she, too, began to laugh. and we giggled all the way through our frozen yogurt looking over our shoulders every once in a while to make sure an evil wizard wasn't watching us devour our dessert.
well, last night Katie wanted frozen yogurt, and naturally i couldn't say no. i, once again, had just smoked, and was patiently sitting at our dining table waiting for KDD to pick me up when i hear a noise. "Nikki, did you hear that?" of course she didn't. i hear it again. "hello," i frantically scream. "is some one here?" Nikki is now laughing at me. what can i say? i've become a paranoid stoner in my old age. Katie calls - she's out front - so i grab my purse and turn the corner to head down when i realize that THE FUCKING FRONT DOOR IS OPEN. no one came in or out of our house, but the god damn door is wide open. i become mildly hysterical. Nix tries to assure me that the serial killer, who isn't really there, won't kill me on my way to Katie's car because he does not, in fact, exist. i'm not so convinced. feeling that i will scare off any attacker, i scream "i'll cut you" over and over while running down the stairs until i jump into Katie's car.
looking back on both incidents, i've realized a few things...
1.) we need to find some thing more exciting to do on Friday nights.
2.) i have an incurable, embedded fear in my brain that evil is constantly lurking.
3.) we love frozen yogurt.
FOOTNOTES
* a few months ago, Danielle was walking our old roommate's dog and tied her to the giant outdoor heater that is in front of our building. she began to walk away, the dog thought she was going with and began to follow. long story short, D turned around with just enough time to see the top of the heater come crashing down on her face. ER visit, all that good stuff, but now a faint scar is all we have to remember the incident by.
** Harry Potter has a scar on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt which causes him excruciating pain whenever Lord Voldemort is near.
last Friday, Danielle and i dropped Nikki off at the airport and then proceeded directly to Penguin's for a delicious frozen treat. on the ride there, her scar from the outdoor heater incident* began to hurt. granted, i was a little stoned but i started laughing uncontrollably and told her she was the new Harry Potter and evil was near**. though i'm not even sure Dani is even a HP fan, she, too, began to laugh. and we giggled all the way through our frozen yogurt looking over our shoulders every once in a while to make sure an evil wizard wasn't watching us devour our dessert.
well, last night Katie wanted frozen yogurt, and naturally i couldn't say no. i, once again, had just smoked, and was patiently sitting at our dining table waiting for KDD to pick me up when i hear a noise. "Nikki, did you hear that?" of course she didn't. i hear it again. "hello," i frantically scream. "is some one here?" Nikki is now laughing at me. what can i say? i've become a paranoid stoner in my old age. Katie calls - she's out front - so i grab my purse and turn the corner to head down when i realize that THE FUCKING FRONT DOOR IS OPEN. no one came in or out of our house, but the god damn door is wide open. i become mildly hysterical. Nix tries to assure me that the serial killer, who isn't really there, won't kill me on my way to Katie's car because he does not, in fact, exist. i'm not so convinced. feeling that i will scare off any attacker, i scream "i'll cut you" over and over while running down the stairs until i jump into Katie's car.
looking back on both incidents, i've realized a few things...
1.) we need to find some thing more exciting to do on Friday nights.
2.) i have an incurable, embedded fear in my brain that evil is constantly lurking.
3.) we love frozen yogurt.
FOOTNOTES
* a few months ago, Danielle was walking our old roommate's dog and tied her to the giant outdoor heater that is in front of our building. she began to walk away, the dog thought she was going with and began to follow. long story short, D turned around with just enough time to see the top of the heater come crashing down on her face. ER visit, all that good stuff, but now a faint scar is all we have to remember the incident by.
** Harry Potter has a scar on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt which causes him excruciating pain whenever Lord Voldemort is near.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
cell phones are the devil
i've come to the conclusion that i should no longer be allowed to enter The Whaler if i have my cell phone. neither should Nikki. the past few weeks we have been the drunk dialing/texting queens. not that we haven't had fun, and not that we've really done/said anything that terrible, but we've spent one too many mornings wondering "did i really say that?" and "i wonder if i actually spoke with (insert name here), or if i just left an obnoxiously drunk message..." it's gotten to the point where i thank baby Jesus that i have an unlimited text messaging plan.
last night Son came over and played a message he saved from last week after our Sharkeez fiasco, and i honestly thought i was going to die because i was laughing so hard that i couldn't breathe. the best part about it was earlier this week he told Nikki that she left the funniest message, and she was absolutely convinced that i was the one who called. but sure enough, it was her beautiful voice on Ricky's VM busting out Human League's "Don't You Want Me Baby", then transitioning into one of my own new personal favorites, "Jason Ricablanca Lives by the Sea" (sung to the tune of "Puff the Magic Dragon"). i only wish that she was home to hear it.
and then it's moments like that which lead me to believe that we should, in fact, keep on keepin' on. who would entertain the masses? who would bring smiles (possibly perplexed frowns) to our friends faces without a "get your ass to The Whaler or we'll hate you" call from us? how would you know that we were belligerently wasted if you didn't have record of a text message that we sent you? i may have just changed my own mind in the process of writing this entry. yup. i did. i'm pretty persuasive like that.
i say yes to drunk dialing. bring on the drunk texting. i for one don't want to live in a world with out "Jason Ricablanca Lives by the Sea". do you? i hope not...
i've come to the conclusion that i should no longer be allowed to enter The Whaler if i have my cell phone. neither should Nikki. the past few weeks we have been the drunk dialing/texting queens. not that we haven't had fun, and not that we've really done/said anything that terrible, but we've spent one too many mornings wondering "did i really say that?" and "i wonder if i actually spoke with (insert name here), or if i just left an obnoxiously drunk message..." it's gotten to the point where i thank baby Jesus that i have an unlimited text messaging plan.
last night Son came over and played a message he saved from last week after our Sharkeez fiasco, and i honestly thought i was going to die because i was laughing so hard that i couldn't breathe. the best part about it was earlier this week he told Nikki that she left the funniest message, and she was absolutely convinced that i was the one who called. but sure enough, it was her beautiful voice on Ricky's VM busting out Human League's "Don't You Want Me Baby", then transitioning into one of my own new personal favorites, "Jason Ricablanca Lives by the Sea" (sung to the tune of "Puff the Magic Dragon"). i only wish that she was home to hear it.
and then it's moments like that which lead me to believe that we should, in fact, keep on keepin' on. who would entertain the masses? who would bring smiles (possibly perplexed frowns) to our friends faces without a "get your ass to The Whaler or we'll hate you" call from us? how would you know that we were belligerently wasted if you didn't have record of a text message that we sent you? i may have just changed my own mind in the process of writing this entry. yup. i did. i'm pretty persuasive like that.
i say yes to drunk dialing. bring on the drunk texting. i for one don't want to live in a world with out "Jason Ricablanca Lives by the Sea". do you? i hope not...
Thursday, January 25, 2007
a celebration fit for a queen. well, a karaoke queen, at least...
this past weekend was full of more karaoke than i care to remember. scratch that. this past weekend was full of more karaoke than i can remember, likely due to my belligerent nature at the end Sunday evening. yes, i am well aware that it was Katie's birthday and that i was more drunk than she - but for those of you who weren't there/don't remember Friday night due to your own belligerent nature, allow me to indulge you...
Friday we arrive at Brass Monkey Caffe, much to the delight of Miss D.Driscoll. a table right next to the mic has a nice "Reserved" sign for and we knew it would be a night of singing and all around madness. for sure it was the latter because of these reasons (and more):
1.) crowded does not even begin to convey how many people were shoved into that bar. thank the good lord we had the smarts to call ahead and reserve a table.
2.) a very large, frightening man (who definitely was Abumchuck's cousin - ugly cousin at that) would not leave Katie alone, and i'm pretty sure he slipped her a ketamine. he was terribly rude to the rest of us. for your viewing pleasure:
i could have taken him though...
3.) the birthday girl became very drunk VERY quickly (hence the above ketmine reference). so quickly in fact she puked her life away in one of the tiny stalls at Brass Monkey, and in a Nordstrom box that was in my car on the way home. just when i thought i had seen it all, she still had more to unload when we got back to the house. thank god i heart taking care of drunk people... and that i was sober.
4.) in the midst of the puking display and my feeble attempts to get every one out of the bar to head home, Dan decided he wasn't ready to go home. i made him look me in the eyes and swear it was ok to leave him there. he did. so i did. his new "friend" took him home the next morning. we know, Dan. we know. "nothing happened."
5.) Ricky introduced me to Moving 93.9, which many of your probably already knew about but i don't really listen to the radio. C&C Music Factory is the shit.
poor KBOMBS was not feeling so hot, to say the least, on Saturday. so we had a pretty mellow day in preparation for Sunday Funday.
and what a fun day it was (even though she claimed that she was still hung over from Friday). around 3:00pm we ventured down to my old stomping grounds for Katie's first Sharkeez experience. it was a game day, and a Sunday no less, so we knew that getting a table would be more than difficult. ironically two of the first people we saw when we walked in the door were Windi and Ursula. they had their claims already staked on a few bar stools and eventually Nikki and i worked our way in there as well, but it just wasn't flying. the birthday girl, Dave (Human) and Dani were still seatless and i know we're good - but "stealing" three more stools from people who clearly had been sitting there pounding screwdrivers since 11:00am? bottom line: we needed a table.
luckily (or not so luckily, depending on how you look at it) poor Windi and Ursula were being harassed by a nice fellow who affectionately refers to himself as "Biscuit".
Biscuit, anyone? no?
now what are the chances that i actually knew Biscuit? slim to none, but what do you know - Biscuit is friends with Jake G, who is friends with Jake Bierner, who you guessed it is one of my friends. Biscuit is now overflowing with joy and insists that we come sit at his table with him. and a few strategic scoots later, Biscuit's table becomes our table. sweet victory.
Biscuit took a liking to our Katie Lu, as you can see from the photo above, but even more funny was that Biscuit's friend took a liking to our Dave. i feel it important to mention that Biscuit's friend happended to be male. bought Dave a shot, kept giving him eyes... it was weird. i don't think Dave gave him a fair chance, though.
a few Fishbowls and a few pitchers left us feeling pretty good (except for Danielle who was lying in the car and Katie who still wasn't drinking much. lame.) so i guess what i'm saying is that Nikki, Dave and i were all feeling pretty darn good. long story short, Chicago won, Indianapolis won and i was about ready to throw up (due to football, not my drinking habit - yet), so we took off.
what did we do when we got home, you ask? we drank of course! for some reason i thought it would be a good idea to drink more and even smoke a little. 8:00pm rolled around and we were ready to go out again. destination: karaoke Sunday at the Whaler.
our crew had significantly grown by this point. PA had randomly stumbled to the house (after i randomly bumped into him at Sharkeez) with Rawley, Dan & Nolan were done celebrating the Chicago victory, and even Matty made the six block trek to celebrate a bit more. Katie started drinking, i kept drinking, and the night becomes fuzzy after that. allegedly, i was so retarded before we left that i couldn't even sing anymore - i just talked through entire songs. and not even reading the lyrics, i actually was just rambling nonsense and screaming "happy birthday, Katie!" into the microphone. but even still, we all had too much fun.
(note: i apologize for my extreme tardiness in the finishing and posting of this entry. sue me.)
this past weekend was full of more karaoke than i care to remember. scratch that. this past weekend was full of more karaoke than i can remember, likely due to my belligerent nature at the end Sunday evening. yes, i am well aware that it was Katie's birthday and that i was more drunk than she - but for those of you who weren't there/don't remember Friday night due to your own belligerent nature, allow me to indulge you...
Friday we arrive at Brass Monkey Caffe, much to the delight of Miss D.Driscoll. a table right next to the mic has a nice "Reserved" sign for and we knew it would be a night of singing and all around madness. for sure it was the latter because of these reasons (and more):
1.) crowded does not even begin to convey how many people were shoved into that bar. thank the good lord we had the smarts to call ahead and reserve a table.
2.) a very large, frightening man (who definitely was Abumchuck's cousin - ugly cousin at that) would not leave Katie alone, and i'm pretty sure he slipped her a ketamine. he was terribly rude to the rest of us. for your viewing pleasure:
i could have taken him though...3.) the birthday girl became very drunk VERY quickly (hence the above ketmine reference). so quickly in fact she puked her life away in one of the tiny stalls at Brass Monkey, and in a Nordstrom box that was in my car on the way home. just when i thought i had seen it all, she still had more to unload when we got back to the house. thank god i heart taking care of drunk people... and that i was sober.
4.) in the midst of the puking display and my feeble attempts to get every one out of the bar to head home, Dan decided he wasn't ready to go home. i made him look me in the eyes and swear it was ok to leave him there. he did. so i did. his new "friend" took him home the next morning. we know, Dan. we know. "nothing happened."
5.) Ricky introduced me to Moving 93.9, which many of your probably already knew about but i don't really listen to the radio. C&C Music Factory is the shit.
poor KBOMBS was not feeling so hot, to say the least, on Saturday. so we had a pretty mellow day in preparation for Sunday Funday.
and what a fun day it was (even though she claimed that she was still hung over from Friday). around 3:00pm we ventured down to my old stomping grounds for Katie's first Sharkeez experience. it was a game day, and a Sunday no less, so we knew that getting a table would be more than difficult. ironically two of the first people we saw when we walked in the door were Windi and Ursula. they had their claims already staked on a few bar stools and eventually Nikki and i worked our way in there as well, but it just wasn't flying. the birthday girl, Dave (Human) and Dani were still seatless and i know we're good - but "stealing" three more stools from people who clearly had been sitting there pounding screwdrivers since 11:00am? bottom line: we needed a table.
luckily (or not so luckily, depending on how you look at it) poor Windi and Ursula were being harassed by a nice fellow who affectionately refers to himself as "Biscuit".
Biscuit, anyone? no?
now what are the chances that i actually knew Biscuit? slim to none, but what do you know - Biscuit is friends with Jake G, who is friends with Jake Bierner, who you guessed it is one of my friends. Biscuit is now overflowing with joy and insists that we come sit at his table with him. and a few strategic scoots later, Biscuit's table becomes our table. sweet victory.
Biscuit took a liking to our Katie Lu, as you can see from the photo above, but even more funny was that Biscuit's friend took a liking to our Dave. i feel it important to mention that Biscuit's friend happended to be male. bought Dave a shot, kept giving him eyes... it was weird. i don't think Dave gave him a fair chance, though.
a few Fishbowls and a few pitchers left us feeling pretty good (except for Danielle who was lying in the car and Katie who still wasn't drinking much. lame.) so i guess what i'm saying is that Nikki, Dave and i were all feeling pretty darn good. long story short, Chicago won, Indianapolis won and i was about ready to throw up (due to football, not my drinking habit - yet), so we took off.
what did we do when we got home, you ask? we drank of course! for some reason i thought it would be a good idea to drink more and even smoke a little. 8:00pm rolled around and we were ready to go out again. destination: karaoke Sunday at the Whaler.
our crew had significantly grown by this point. PA had randomly stumbled to the house (after i randomly bumped into him at Sharkeez) with Rawley, Dan & Nolan were done celebrating the Chicago victory, and even Matty made the six block trek to celebrate a bit more. Katie started drinking, i kept drinking, and the night becomes fuzzy after that. allegedly, i was so retarded before we left that i couldn't even sing anymore - i just talked through entire songs. and not even reading the lyrics, i actually was just rambling nonsense and screaming "happy birthday, Katie!" into the microphone. but even still, we all had too much fun.
(note: i apologize for my extreme tardiness in the finishing and posting of this entry. sue me.)
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
near death experience
if it wasn't bad enough that i was trying to recover from Martha Luther King Day festivities, i'm pretty sure i almost died today.
some how 2:00pm rolled around and i realize that i haven't eaten anything yet. one fell swoop, hunger hit me like a freight train. nothing in the house seemed to satiate my famine, so i set out on a mission. the destination of my mission was unclear, but one thing was crystal - i need to eat.
i'm cruising down Washington. i pass Frankie and Johnny's and am inevitably heading to In-N-Out for a grilled cheese when dizziness erupts in my head like a beer that's been left in the freezer too long. instead of hunger pains shooting through my body, i now feel nauseous and, well, terrible to put it plainly. for sure i'm not even going to make it the extra 5 or 6 blocks to In-N-Out. i make a very illegal, erratic U-turn and speed toward home. "do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars," i say to myself. "for the love of whatever God i don't believe in, please let me make it home."
i pull onto Fleet Street, park like an asshole and run straight to my bed. lying down doesn't seem to help. i still feel like i'm going to vomit and the dizziness i experienced earlier has progressed to horrible shooting pains throughout my head. the silence that is my room isn't helping much, either, so i turn on my tv hoping a little background noise will calm my senses. no such luck. instead, an awful soap opera is on and all any of the characters on the show seem to do is scream; be it a high pitched i'm on a roller coaster having the time of my life scream, or the i know you're cheating on me come out of your lover's closet so i can slap you across the face kind of scream, they were screaming like there was no tomorrow. and at that moment in time, i really felt like there was no tomorrow.
lucky for me, i see Nikki walking down the hall so i scream (politely) for her to get me Advil. at this point Danielle has heard all of the commotion and she and Dave the dog are now in my room (bed for that matter) assessing my condition. Nikki, being the darling that she is, not only gets me Advil but makes me a sandwich. Danielle swears i have a fever and i am now wondering why i've never made a will because my head is about to fall off. i eat my sandwich, but still feel like i was thrown around in a hurricane.
an undisclosed amount of time later, i some how for who knows what reason end up at Starbucks. i order my usual and with one sip am almost instantly rejuvenated. that's right folks, i was going through caffeine withdrawals. i (inadvertently) tried to quit coffee today. really, i was just super busy with work and never made it out the door to Starbucks (or even to the kitchen to make coffee or put any sort of victuals in my body.)
so the morals of the story are, i can (a) never quit coffee and (b) never start doing heroin.
if it wasn't bad enough that i was trying to recover from Martha Luther King Day festivities, i'm pretty sure i almost died today.
some how 2:00pm rolled around and i realize that i haven't eaten anything yet. one fell swoop, hunger hit me like a freight train. nothing in the house seemed to satiate my famine, so i set out on a mission. the destination of my mission was unclear, but one thing was crystal - i need to eat.
i'm cruising down Washington. i pass Frankie and Johnny's and am inevitably heading to In-N-Out for a grilled cheese when dizziness erupts in my head like a beer that's been left in the freezer too long. instead of hunger pains shooting through my body, i now feel nauseous and, well, terrible to put it plainly. for sure i'm not even going to make it the extra 5 or 6 blocks to In-N-Out. i make a very illegal, erratic U-turn and speed toward home. "do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars," i say to myself. "for the love of whatever God i don't believe in, please let me make it home."
i pull onto Fleet Street, park like an asshole and run straight to my bed. lying down doesn't seem to help. i still feel like i'm going to vomit and the dizziness i experienced earlier has progressed to horrible shooting pains throughout my head. the silence that is my room isn't helping much, either, so i turn on my tv hoping a little background noise will calm my senses. no such luck. instead, an awful soap opera is on and all any of the characters on the show seem to do is scream; be it a high pitched i'm on a roller coaster having the time of my life scream, or the i know you're cheating on me come out of your lover's closet so i can slap you across the face kind of scream, they were screaming like there was no tomorrow. and at that moment in time, i really felt like there was no tomorrow.
lucky for me, i see Nikki walking down the hall so i scream (politely) for her to get me Advil. at this point Danielle has heard all of the commotion and she and Dave the dog are now in my room (bed for that matter) assessing my condition. Nikki, being the darling that she is, not only gets me Advil but makes me a sandwich. Danielle swears i have a fever and i am now wondering why i've never made a will because my head is about to fall off. i eat my sandwich, but still feel like i was thrown around in a hurricane.
an undisclosed amount of time later, i some how for who knows what reason end up at Starbucks. i order my usual and with one sip am almost instantly rejuvenated. that's right folks, i was going through caffeine withdrawals. i (inadvertently) tried to quit coffee today. really, i was just super busy with work and never made it out the door to Starbucks (or even to the kitchen to make coffee or put any sort of victuals in my body.)
so the morals of the story are, i can (a) never quit coffee and (b) never start doing heroin.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
¡prospero ano nuevo!
two thousand seven: so far, so good - which obviously isn't saying much seeing that it's only the second day, but FSC kicked it off with a bang so let's hope the good times keep rolling. (my birthday is in two days. clearly the good times will continue to roll...)
for those of you who were in a paper bag, i spent NYE in Punta Banda with 20+/- of my closest and not-so-closest-but-we-partied-just-like-we-were-closest friends. Danielle, Nikki, Chad, Dave the dog and i headed down to Mexico on Saturday with Katie & Co. close in tow. upon arrival it was apparent that our rental looked like a mental institution and/or that an old lady had died in the house, and possibly still remained in one of the many creepy closets. i thought a shower would calm my senses, but i was foolishly mistaken. clearly the joke was on me, because there was no hot water. none. so i was standing in a cold, Mexican shower with my flip flops on because no amount of money would ever convince me that it was ok to be standing there barefoot, crying. it was sad. i was scared.
thank the good lord that we had some friends in another house not too far away, so we piled back in the cars and headed over to drink our sorrows away. seeing them was definitely a morale booster, as we had spent our last Mexican rendezvous for Danielle's birthday with some of them. my first and last tequila shot went down smoothly and i was finally at ease. (don't worry, i said first and last tequila shot. obviously a copious amount of shots were thrown back after that point, but give me credit - i learned a little something from La Fonda. ixnay the equilatay.)
night one drew to a close, so Danielle and i proceeded back to our shack for some unforeseen reason and slept in the death bed. we then reeked of death and campfire. it was awful - or awesome, depending on how you look at it. so long story short about the haunted house: we had a sober moment of clarity and vowed never to go back. the other house(s) were spacious enough to accommodate us all, and thankfully people were nice enough to share beds. those Hollyweird kids saved our lives.
but i digress... back to the mayhem.
Chad brought enough weed for the Sovereign Military Order Of Malta's army, but unfortunately they couldn't make it down so that left us to burn through it. my Sunday started with four people passing three joints around the fire pit leaving me pretty freaking stoned. so i did the only thing i could do - drank beer. the rest of the day was filled with more drinking, more smoking and for sure frolicking on the beach. Eric introduced us to the fabulous game of Viking Kubb, which we now don't know how we lived with out. (FYI: in search of purchasing our own Kubb set on the world wide web, i stumbled across the fact that the annual World Championship is held on Gotland. those interested in trying out for the team inquire within.) drinking dreidel , Sudoku challenge, and losing at poker were also some of the reasons why i was pretty drunk and had to nap before midnight rolled around.
champagne flowed freely when the clock struck twelve and madness ensued. i honestly haven't laughed as hard as i did that night in a long time, which is saying a lot because i'll pretty much laugh at anything. we had a great group of people and i'd like to think that we all had the best time.
Mexican highlights (in no particular order):
- Mike slept wearing a sleep mask. it said something on it, which at the moment i can't remember for the life of me. to make myself giggle, i'll say it said "take me to sleepy town".
- Reed showed off his sick dance moves. Reed's mom had some sick moves of her own...
- the PIMP cup.
- Cody Cody Slutz tried to talk Elek "off the ledge" when in fact he was unquestionably the deciding factor that pushed him back over.
- Nikki and Nick made out - even if it was "in jest"(so they said...) - in front of everyone.
- the little girl who was vacationing next door was doing snow angels in the sand - face down.
- we partied with Benicio del Toro. (not really, but you would have thought he was Benicio del Toro, too, if you were drunk/stoned/in the dark.)
- Nick threw up. Mike took pictures of Nick throwing up. Eric stood in the shower watching while Mike took pictures of Nick throwing up.
- Elek some how became "Papa Elek", and Danielle and i found much glee running around saying "Papa Elek! Papa Elek!" in an Irish/Scottish accent.
- Godfrey flew a borderline gay kite.
- Eric thought he was going to be murdered.
resolutions i've made because of this trip to Mexico:
1.) i need to "Jump Around" more.
not only was it just good old fashioned fun, but for some reason Danielle and i were sore the next morning. jumping was the only physical exertion from either of us the entire trip (unless walking from one end of the Kubb court to the other counts. yeah, didn't think so...), so in short, we clearly don't jump enough.
2.) i'd like to find a giant fake marlin to hang above our fireplace.
i may even possibly sponge paint the wall an awful orange color just like Nana did. (possibly is the key word.)
3.) i hope to take many more trips to Mexico.
or just take more trips with friends. best case scenario: more trips to Mexico with friends.
4.) i'm going to try and get as many people as humanly possible to start using "Mexican" as an adjective.
it's really quite effective. for example, Danielle cut her foot and it was bleeding a little. if she would have simply said "i have a cut" i would have felt bad, but not that bad. but the fact that she said "i have a Mexican cut" really got my attention. also see my multiple uses of Mexican as an adjective above. it works. you will like it - maybe even love it.
in closing, thanks to (Papa) Elek, Cody and crew for feeding us and giving us a place to stay. and i'd also like to give a very special thanks to Nick because every now and then i catch myself busting out a "in the morning when i rise" - and it's golden.
two thousand seven: so far, so good - which obviously isn't saying much seeing that it's only the second day, but FSC kicked it off with a bang so let's hope the good times keep rolling. (my birthday is in two days. clearly the good times will continue to roll...)
for those of you who were in a paper bag, i spent NYE in Punta Banda with 20+/- of my closest and not-so-closest-but-we-partied-just-like-we-were-closest friends. Danielle, Nikki, Chad, Dave the dog and i headed down to Mexico on Saturday with Katie & Co. close in tow. upon arrival it was apparent that our rental looked like a mental institution and/or that an old lady had died in the house, and possibly still remained in one of the many creepy closets. i thought a shower would calm my senses, but i was foolishly mistaken. clearly the joke was on me, because there was no hot water. none. so i was standing in a cold, Mexican shower with my flip flops on because no amount of money would ever convince me that it was ok to be standing there barefoot, crying. it was sad. i was scared.
thank the good lord that we had some friends in another house not too far away, so we piled back in the cars and headed over to drink our sorrows away. seeing them was definitely a morale booster, as we had spent our last Mexican rendezvous for Danielle's birthday with some of them. my first and last tequila shot went down smoothly and i was finally at ease. (don't worry, i said first and last tequila shot. obviously a copious amount of shots were thrown back after that point, but give me credit - i learned a little something from La Fonda. ixnay the equilatay.)
night one drew to a close, so Danielle and i proceeded back to our shack for some unforeseen reason and slept in the death bed. we then reeked of death and campfire. it was awful - or awesome, depending on how you look at it. so long story short about the haunted house: we had a sober moment of clarity and vowed never to go back. the other house(s) were spacious enough to accommodate us all, and thankfully people were nice enough to share beds. those Hollyweird kids saved our lives.
but i digress... back to the mayhem.
Chad brought enough weed for the Sovereign Military Order Of Malta's army, but unfortunately they couldn't make it down so that left us to burn through it. my Sunday started with four people passing three joints around the fire pit leaving me pretty freaking stoned. so i did the only thing i could do - drank beer. the rest of the day was filled with more drinking, more smoking and for sure frolicking on the beach. Eric introduced us to the fabulous game of Viking Kubb, which we now don't know how we lived with out. (FYI: in search of purchasing our own Kubb set on the world wide web, i stumbled across the fact that the annual World Championship is held on Gotland. those interested in trying out for the team inquire within.) drinking dreidel , Sudoku challenge, and losing at poker were also some of the reasons why i was pretty drunk and had to nap before midnight rolled around.
champagne flowed freely when the clock struck twelve and madness ensued. i honestly haven't laughed as hard as i did that night in a long time, which is saying a lot because i'll pretty much laugh at anything. we had a great group of people and i'd like to think that we all had the best time.
Mexican highlights (in no particular order):
- Mike slept wearing a sleep mask. it said something on it, which at the moment i can't remember for the life of me. to make myself giggle, i'll say it said "take me to sleepy town".
- Reed showed off his sick dance moves. Reed's mom had some sick moves of her own...
- the PIMP cup.
- Cody Cody Slutz tried to talk Elek "off the ledge" when in fact he was unquestionably the deciding factor that pushed him back over.
- Nikki and Nick made out - even if it was "in jest"(so they said...) - in front of everyone.
- the little girl who was vacationing next door was doing snow angels in the sand - face down.
- we partied with Benicio del Toro. (not really, but you would have thought he was Benicio del Toro, too, if you were drunk/stoned/in the dark.)
- Nick threw up. Mike took pictures of Nick throwing up. Eric stood in the shower watching while Mike took pictures of Nick throwing up.
- Elek some how became "Papa Elek", and Danielle and i found much glee running around saying "Papa Elek! Papa Elek!" in an Irish/Scottish accent.
- Godfrey flew a borderline gay kite.
- Eric thought he was going to be murdered.
resolutions i've made because of this trip to Mexico:
1.) i need to "Jump Around" more.
not only was it just good old fashioned fun, but for some reason Danielle and i were sore the next morning. jumping was the only physical exertion from either of us the entire trip (unless walking from one end of the Kubb court to the other counts. yeah, didn't think so...), so in short, we clearly don't jump enough.
2.) i'd like to find a giant fake marlin to hang above our fireplace.
i may even possibly sponge paint the wall an awful orange color just like Nana did. (possibly is the key word.)
3.) i hope to take many more trips to Mexico.
or just take more trips with friends. best case scenario: more trips to Mexico with friends.
4.) i'm going to try and get as many people as humanly possible to start using "Mexican" as an adjective.
it's really quite effective. for example, Danielle cut her foot and it was bleeding a little. if she would have simply said "i have a cut" i would have felt bad, but not that bad. but the fact that she said "i have a Mexican cut" really got my attention. also see my multiple uses of Mexican as an adjective above. it works. you will like it - maybe even love it.
in closing, thanks to (Papa) Elek, Cody and crew for feeding us and giving us a place to stay. and i'd also like to give a very special thanks to Nick because every now and then i catch myself busting out a "in the morning when i rise" - and it's golden.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
